When I was younger, I frequently slept on a twin bed.
But this post isn’t really about sleeping.
It’s about the fact that having my heels hooked over the edges of a twin mattress, knees spread wide, puss exposed, is one of the best routes to a huge orgasm for me. I learned this first when I was a teenager.
I’ve recently rediscovered this, as my current subterranean lair is equipped with only a twin bed. While it’s much smaller than the marital bed, it has the benefit of being quieter, less smelly, and completely bereft of cracker-crumbs, which were all too common in my old sleeping quarters.
If you’d have crept down the steep stairs into my lair the other day; if you’d have slipped out of your shoes so as to keep as quiet as possible; if you’d have poked first your nose, then your forehead, then your eyes around the corner; if you’d have allowed your sweaty palms to rest upon the ledge; here’s what you would have seen:
On the narrow bed, one girl, naked but for her bra, which was pushed down to expose her nipples. Her left hand, squeezing and pinching her left nipple. Her right hand, alternating between thrusting a silvery vibe between her pussy lips and circling said silvery vibe around her clit. Her entire body, thrusting back and down onto a red cock shaped piece of silicone wedged into her ass. Her heels, hooked firmly over the edges of the bed, making the muscles on her legs stand out clearly from the stress of keeping the knees wide, the thighs spread, the pussy exposed.
Could you see, from your vantage point by the stairs, how large the clit had grown? Maybe it wasn’t visible; maybe it wasn’t as large as it felt. It felt like a mountain under my vibe and my finger.
The sensation of that huge red toy was so screamingly good. It was hitting my g-spot from inside my bottom. Each thrust down and back, each time its fat red head caught that spot, fluid poured from me onto the towels I’d wisely placed beneath my bottom. Legs aching, heels numb from being hooked so firmly, I couldn’t stop thrusting down and back. I couldn’t stop my body from wanting more and more and more gushy orgasms. I couldn’t stop until my legs and my batteries all weakened together.
As my brain returned back to this level of existence, I had to look up. I had to glance over by the stairs. No one was there, of course; the house was empty at that moment but for sleeping little ones. Who would I possibly have expected to be there by the stairs?
In my fantasy, I was being watched by a man who’d crept down the stairs, who’d stood at the stairs letting his eyes and his mind roam over my exposed body. He’d wrenched his pants open, he’d drawn out his cock, he’d stroked it while he watched me getting off for him.
In my fantasy, he finally approached me and (physics be damned) slid his cock in between the toy in my bottom and the toy on my clit. He added the missing piece to the hat trick of stimulation.
Greedy, greedy girl, to be unsatisfied by the stimulation I had. Greedy for wanting more.
.
